


Everlark Spring Break

by Xerxia



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fic Exchange, Friends to Lovers, Spring Break, Tumblr Prompt, everlark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 19:26:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6342055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xerxia/pseuds/Xerxia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt 17: Katniss can’t afford to go away on Spring Break, so Peeta brings Spring Break to her. [submitted by @hutchhitched ]  For the Everlark fic exchange, spring edition on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everlark Spring Break

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hutchabelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hutchabelle/gifts).



Prompt 17: Katniss can’t afford to go away on Spring Break, so Peeta brings Spring Break to her. [submitted by @hutchhitched ]

 

Rated T, no warnings

\-----------

 

I've stared at my phone, on and off, all day, even though I know the only messages that’ll come in this week will be from Prim, and she’s in the next room.

 

It's spring break. More specifically, it's spring break of my final year of college. Most of my friends are right now on a plane to Cancun, heading for a week of white sand and plentiful rum. I'm happy for them, truly. But it was supposed to be me. And it stings that I'm still here, toying with my silent phone, watching the late season snow fall outside my window like a giant _screw you_ from mother nature herself.

 

I'd been saving for this trip for months. The others billed it as one last opportunity to be stupid kids before we all graduate in a few months. But for me, honestly, it would have been my first and only opportunity to be young and free. Or to pretend anyway, if just for a week.

 

But then the furnace in our run-down house gave out. And faced with a choice between a week on the beach or keeping my little sister warm, well, it wasn't much of a choice. Not that I'd tell Prim that. Her life is difficult enough without being burdened by all of the crap that goes into keeping the three of us warm and fed. My mother's disability pension covers the mortgage, but little else. And Prim’s the one who makes sure mama eats and bathes, who brushes and plaits her hair, who tells her stories. That’s burden enough.

 

 _Think they've landed yet?_ I smirk at the message. Not Prim, but Peeta. Also stuck in Panem for spring break. I've been so preoccupied moping I'd almost forgotten. His dad owns the bakery in town, and at the last minute decided he needed Peeta to stay and work for him.

 

I type a quick reply. _Another 90 minutes, I think._ Peeta and I grew up together, but texting with him is new. We never ran in the same circles in grade school or high school; he was popular and I was… not. I'd see him of course; in class, in the halls, once in a wrestling tournament Madge dragged me to. But we weren't friends.

 

Even in the first couple of years of college we didn't interact. He's a business major. I'm taking environmental sciences. We both live off campus. Our paths rarely crossed.

 

But that changed last fall, when Peeta's friend, Finnick, started dating Annie, my coworker at the diner and one of my only friends at school. And somehow that grew into a ragtag group of us who always seem to hang out together. Johanna, Thom, Delly. Annie and Finnick. Peeta. And me. Seven of us who just… click. It's comfortable. I really never thought I'd have a group of friends like this, nature and circumstance conspired to create a girl with thick walls and a chip on her shoulder, a loner. But they crept up on me.

 

And now five of them are on a plane, headed for paradise.

 

I miss them already.

 

Prim sticks her head through my bedroom door. “I thought you were working this week?” I grimace; that's the excuse that I gave her for not going on this trip, that Sae couldn't spare both Annie and me, so I needed to stay and work. It's a lie though, and I only have a couple of shifts this week. It's a slow time of year with the college kids away.

 

“Not ‘til Monday, Little Duck. I have the whole weekend to hang out with you! I thought we could catch up on that show you like, with the space kids.” The expression that flits across her face can only be described as horror, though she masks it well.

 

“Oh, I uh, have plans, actually, with Rue.” Her brows furrow at my expression, and she rushes to backtrack, “But I can cancel them, that'd be fine, I can get together with Rue next weekend.” Prim’s a senior in high school, and she works damned hard. She's also everything I'm not; sweet, loving, generous. I can't deny her anything.

 

“Naw,” I tell her, swallowing my disappointment. “You go, I've got a paper to edit anyway. Tomorrow maybe?” She bites her lip. “Or, hey, how about a movie night on Tuesday? My treat!” At that she grins, and hugs me, then bolts from my room.

 

Not five minutes later she's waving goodbye, bright orange backpack slung over her shoulder. “Hazelle will be by later to feed mama dinner and help her get ready for bed,” she yells over her shoulder. Hazelle is my mother’s friend from before, she still comes by a few times a week to sit with mama, and to keep an eye on us too, though she wouldn't admit that part. We’re lucky to have her.

 

A Saturday afternoon alone. I can’t remember the last time this happened. I check in with mama; she’s sitting in the rocking chair, knitting. For a moment, just one fraction of a second, she seems normal, like the mother I once had. But the scarf she’s knitting pools endlessly at her feet, Rapunzel-like, and she stares at the wall, watching something - or someone - I’ll never see.  

 

So I leave her in her own little world and indulge in a bath. The water is steamy and the tub overflows with bubbles, coconut scented; with my eyes closed I can pretend I’m floating in the gulf of Mexico. It’s nice…

 

But it’s not the beach.

 

Still, I’m not going to waste an entire tub of precious hot water, so I soak and lounge until the water chills and my fingers get pruny. I shave and moisturize and exfoliate with all of the weird bath products Prim insists on buying me every Christmas. She’ll be pleased I’ve at least cracked the seals on some of them.

 

Then I towel off and slowly blow dry my hair, only to discover all of that has barely taken an hour. This is going to be a long week.

 

My phone is still silent when I flop on the bed in sweatpants and a cami, and crack open a book.

 

Working two jobs and going to school full time means I can fall asleep anywhere, any time. I could probably sleep in a tree, if I needed to. So when my phone jolts me awake I’m shocked, but not surprised. I have to detangle myself from a forest of unbound hair that sticks to my face before I can even grab the phone, and my greeting sounds more like a grunt.

 

“Katniss?” The voice on the other end is frantic, and that pushes away the last vestiges of sleep.

 

“Peeta? What’s wrong, what’s going on?”

 

“Fuck,” he curses, “I need your help, can you come over? Like, now? Please,” he adds, unnecessarily. Peeta, like Prim, is so sweet that I really can’t deny him, no matter how grumpy I am from my interrupted nap.

 

But I’m not above making him grovel.

 

“Why, Peeta,” I whine. “What’s the problem?” I can hear the hiss of a frustrated breath rushing through his teeth.

 

“Better to tell you in person. Or show you, I guess. Can you come now?” He sounds so anxious, so flustered, so very un-Peeta-like. I soften. What it is about these blondes that makes me bend to their will so easily?

 

“Sure, I’ll be there in ten,” I tell him. He rambles effusive thanks, and I can only chuckle, hanging up on him before he can gush any more. I quickly braid my hair, grab a sweatshirt from the closet and head downstairs.

 

It’s an easy drive to the apartment Peeta shares with Finnick, and one I’ve done a hundred times at least. It’s where we always seem to congregate, it’s bigger than the dorms where Jo and Delly live, closer than Thom's place, and more private than my house, with my omnipresent ghost of a mother.

 

It’s also a third floor walk-up, which I grumble about at this time of year, forced to trudge up the endless stairs wrapped in parka and scarf, clunking and dripping in heavy boots. When I get to the apartment I’m definitely not in the best of moods, and I hammer on the door a little more harshly than I intend to. But it flies open immediately, as if he’s been standing there, waiting for me, and with hand still raised I’m suddenly staring at the solid wall of Peeta Mellark’s very defined chest. Shamelessly staring at his very bare, very ripped chest.

 

It takes far too long for my brain to kick in, knocked temporarily offline by the pale expanse of toned pecs and sculpted abs, the outer obliques that make a delicious vee, the trail of darker blonde hair that leads down… I can feel my face flaming, and I snap my head up to scowl. “Holy shit, Peeta, why are you half-naked?” He chuckles, the bastard, enjoying my discomfort.

 

“You’ve seen me in a swimsuit before, Katniss,” he laughs as he tugs me inside and shuts the door firmly behind me.

 

“Not in the middle of winter,” I grouse, trying not to ogle the specimen in front of me, clad in orange board shorts slung low over narrow hips, and flip flops of all things. Trying and failing. Damn, when did Peeta get so hot?  He’s pulling off my scarf and coat, dripping with melted snow, and smiling so broadly that I nearly forget why I’m here.

 

“What’s the emergency, Peeta? Did your washing machine break?”

 

“Nope,” he pops, smugly, all traces of frantic Peeta gone, and I’m baffled. What the hell is going on? I can barely toe off my boots before he’s grabbed my hand and is hauling me into the living room. “Come on, Katniss!”

 

“Seriously, you’re starting to freak me out here, what’s…” I trail off. There are two giant inflatable palm trees taking up a large part of the room, and brightly coloured crepe paper decorations everywhere. The worn out couch has been covered with a festive Mexican blanket, and there is a giant novelty sombrero on the coffee table. What the hell?

 

“Welcome to Puerto Mellarka!” Peeta looks way too pleased with himself, and I let out a disbelieving little snort.  

 

“You’ve lost your mind.”

 

He laughs, rich and deep; it does funny things to my belly. “Maybe,” he acquiesces, “But we’re having a fiesta on the beach, Everdeen, you and me, and you’re not even dressed for it!” I look down at my oversized sweats and fuzzy green socks. Definitely not beach wear.

 

“Well if you’d warned me we were going to Mexico I’d have known to come dressed for the beach,” I protest, and he smirks knowingly.

 

“If I’d told you what I was planning you wouldn’t have come at all,” he says, and there’s just enough sadness in his eyes to make me want to play along with him, despite my annoyance at being tricked. Because he’s right, I wouldn’t have come, and he’s obviously put a lot of thought into this. Into making us feel better about being left behind. Which is really sweet.

 

“Okay,” I relent, “I’ll swing home, change and be back…” he stops my words with a gentle finger across my lips, and I have to restrain myself from pursing my lips in a kiss. Where did that come from? It’s because he’s shirtless, I can’t think with all of that skin on display.

 

“I’ve already got it covered,” he smirks, and he points to a very familiar orange backpack, sitting on a chair.

 

I’m going to kill Prim.

 

“You can change in my room,” he says. “But hurry, the buffet opens any minute!” I’m already pulling my phone out of my pocket as I stomp to Peeta’s bedroom, intent on giving _someone_ a piece of my mind.  

 

I’ve only just opened the backpack when Prim answers. “Don’t even start,” she snaps, before I can say a word.

 

“What the hell, Prim?”

 

“He’s doing something nice for you, Katniss,” she emphasizes. “For once in your life don’t be a grumpy stick in the mud!” Ouch.

 

“I’m not always grumpy,” I mumble, equal parts chastised and hurt. I know how to have fun.  Right? She sighs.

 

“I know you’re not, Kat, I do. But you never let anyone do anything for you.”

 

“I don't want to owe anyone, Prim!”

 

“It's not always about owing, or expecting something in return. Sometimes people do nice things just because they're nice.” That's something Prim would definitely understand, but me, not so much. I sigh, and dump the backpack. And then I choke.

 

“Jesus Christ, Prim, you packed a bikini? What the hell? There's no actual beach here, you know. I can't walk around Peeta's apartment in that!”

 

“Why not, God knows you have the body for it,” she mumbles. Just when I thought I couldn't be any more mortified. She sighs. “Relax, there's a sarong in there too. You'll be fine, and I know he'll like it. I'm going now, please try to have fun.” And the line dies.

 

He'll like it? Peeta? What?

 

My black bikini isn't the skimpiest suit by any stretch, but I usually only wear it to tan in the yard with Prim. It's a lot more skin than I'm comfortable showing. The yellow sarong helps though, it's definitely from Prim's closet, soft and flowing and brighter than anything I'd typically wear. I unplait my hair too, pulling the long strands forward to cover the tops of my breasts, making me feel a little less vulnerable. And then I pad softly back to the living room.

 

The lights have been dimmed, and some kind of quiet Latin music is coming from the stereo. Peeta’s set the coffee table with platters of food and a pitcher of something green. He's wearing one of those silly fake floral leis from the party shop, it dangles in front of him as he leans over the table. His blonde curls spill forward too, falling over his forehead in ashy waves.

 

He's beautiful.

 

It would be a lie to say I've never noticed how good looking Peeta is, in an abstract way at least, but this might be the first time I've really studied him. His shoulders are so broad and his biceps bulge, but not in a gross ‘I spend my life at the gym’ way. He’s simply strong and fit. His jaw is sharp and masculine but his lips look soft and lush. And now they're turned up in a smile that lights up the dim room. My heart flutters in my chest.

 

As he straightens he catches sight of me and his eyes widen, those lips parting wordlessly. I shift uncomfortably on bare feet.

 

“Wow,” he finally says, softly, and I drop my gaze, staring at his flip flops. They're neon green. Fascinating. He clears his throat, and stalks towards me.

 

“Ready to get lei’d, Everdeen?” He laughs at his own joke and I scowl.

 

“Leis are Hawaiian, Mellark, not Mexican.” He shrugs, placing the fabric flowers over my head anyway.

 

“My resort, my rules, Katniss,” he murmurs in my ear, and I close my eyes tightly against the rush of sensation. When he pulls my hair out from under the lei and fans it down my back we both shiver. “Hungry?” he asks.

 

“Starving,” I whisper, and I'm not sure if we are talking about food anymore. But he leads me over to the table anyway, and I perch on the edge of the couch, hardly believing my eyes.

 

He's created a feast that would put a real Mexican resort to shame. Fish tacos with a fruit salsa. Guacamole and chips. Peppers stuffed with goat cheese and cilantro. Some noodle dish he calls fideo. And a platter of exotic fruit, just like we might have seen at the resort in Cancun. The kind I could never afford at the grocery store. It's too much. But when I open my mouth to say so Prim's words ring through my head, and I shut it again quickly.

 

“Everything okay?” he asks, handing me a fancy looking glass of the green concoction. A frozen margarita, I think. I nod quickly, embarrassed that I must look so ungrateful, and take a quick sip of the drink. It's good, icy, citrusy and not too strong.

 

“This is amazing, Peeta. You… you went to so much trouble.”

 

“Naw,” he smiles, filling his own glass. “Really no trouble at all.”  He lifts his glass to mine in a toast. “To new adventures, Katniss.” The deep timbre of his voice goes straight to my core. Holy shit!

 

“Cheers,” I mumble, not trusting myself to say anything more.

 

The food tastes even better than it looks, Peeta's a phenomenal cook. I eat like I'm never going to see food again; I don't mean to, but everything is so good! We eat, and we chat, and we laugh. It's so easy to talk to Peeta about anything, and everything really, even more so without the others around. I learn things about him that I never knew, even though we've been schoolmates for more than 15 years.

 

Three margaritas and almost an entire fruit platter later I'm warm and full and content. We’re both slouched on the couch, side by side, barely an inch between us. He's telling me a story, about his brothers I think, but I'm completely fixated on his eyelashes, pale gold in the lamplight and so long I can't figure out how they don't get all tangled up when he blinks.

 

“What?” he laughs, and I startle.  Busted. The heat flames in my face.

 

“Nothing,” I mumble, and he smirks. I grasp at anything to change the subject. “So what’s next? Are there entertainers at this resort? A little Las Vegas-style revue?”

 

“I thought we could watch the sunset from the beach.” I scowl at him, there’s no beach here, in his apartment in the middle of Panem. And even if there was, the sun went down hours ago. He looks altogether too pleased with himself as he practically leaps off the couch.

 

As I watch with confusion and, yeah, a little bit of amusement (and maybe a not so subtle gawk at the amazing ass he’s barely containing in those shorts) he walks to the living room wall. There’s a roll of what looks like fabric, gathered and pinned to the ceiling. I hadn’t noticed it before. But he carefully undoes the various lengths of twine holding it in place, and it unfurls with a flump and a gust of wind.

 

It covers the entire wall. It's a sheet, but it’s not a plain sheet.  It’s painted, the entire thing, edge to edge with the most gorgeous beach scene imaginable. White sand and cerulean blue water, and a sky streaked with orange and violet and gold. It’s utterly exquisite, and just what I imagine Cancun would look like right now. I can do nothing but stand stock-still, and stare, mouth wide open.  

 

He comes back to stand beside me. “I know how much you wanted to go to Mexico, Katniss.” His voice is so soft, and so close that the words skirt over the shell of my ear, making me tremble. “So I thought, since you couldn’t go, I’d bring spring break to you.” My throat tightens, and I cross the room before I can do something stupid like cry.

 

I run my fingers along the brush strokes, the sheet (no, it’s a little thicker than a sheet, a drop cloth maybe?) flutters slightly as I do, giving the illusion of rolling waves. It’s clearly Peeta’s work, and while I don’t know much about painting I know this isn’t something he threw together this afternoon.

 

“When did you do this?” I whisper.

 

“Oh, over the past couple of weeks, after classes.”

 

A couple of weeks. I had to back out of the trip more than three weeks ago, though it took some time for me to tell everyone because of how embarrassed I was. I mean, they were all understanding, and I knew they would be, but still. But I thought it was only a few days ago that Peeta’s dad insisted he stay, I’d been almost sadder for him than for myself because it was so last minute.

 

“But I thought one of your dad’s workers fell ill, and that’s why you couldn’t go…” I’m sure that’s what he said, that’s why it was so last minute, why his dad couldn’t get someone else to cover with such little notice.

 

“Hmm,” he mumbles, and it’s not quite an affirmative sound. I whirl to face him but he won't meet my eyes. My stomach plummets as an awful question springs to mind.

 

“Peeta? Please tell me you didn't cancel your trip because of me.”

 

“Not exactly,” he hedges, but he's rubbing the back of his neck and looking contrite. My temper flares, humiliation burning brightly in my gut.

 

“I don’t need your pity, Peeta!” His head snaps up, eyes wide.

 

“I don’t pity you, Katniss! No one who knows you could ever pity you,” he emphasizes. “I just... felt bad.”

 

“That’s the very definition of pity,” I groan, clenching my fists and pacing.

 

“It’s, fuck,” he grunts, running his hands through his hair, tussling the waves into a riotous mess and damn do my fingers itch to tame them, despite my annoyance.  “It’s not like that.” He moves in front of me abruptly, halting my pacing, making my heart leap.  Has he always had this effect on me? He sighs again, there's a kind of quiet desperation in his eyes, and he sounds miserable.

 

“Tell me,” I mean it to be a demand, but those blue eyes steal my breath and instead it’s barely a whisper. His eyes flit back and forth between mine, searching, for what I’m not sure, but he must find it because he releases a shuddering breath and takes my hands.

 

“Katniss,” he starts, and his voice shakes, just a little. “I never cared about Mexico, not the place anyway. I just… fuck this is hard. I just wanted to go some place where we could let down our guards, be away from the distractions.” I nod, I mean, the whole hot sun and beach part sounded pretty good too, but he’s right, it was just about getting away from life, if only for a bit. “I… I wanted to go… together… with you,” he emphasizes. “And I was hoping…”

 

“Hoping what?” We’re face to face, I'm not sure how we got so close. I can see every golden fleck in his eyes, every faint freckle kissing the bridge of his nose.

 

“Fuck,” he curses again, but this time it’s breathless. I can see the pulse leaping in his throat. “I was going to wait until we’d been there a day, maybe two. Settled in a bit. Then I’d have had a drink, a little liquid courage.” He smirks, glancing at our empty glasses on the table and I smile reluctantly. “And then I was going to ask you to take a walk on the beach with me, just the two of us.  And… and I was going to tell you.” He pauses, and I can’t even breathe.  

 

“I was going to tell you that you’re beautiful. That I’m crazy about you. And I was going to ask you to dance.” He reaches out to play with a lock of my hair, twirling it around his finger.

 

“On the beach?” I ask breathlessly. His hand shifts to cup my cheek.

 

“Mmmhmm,” he murmurs, pulling me close. “At sunset.” And I laugh, though it turns into a whine as his breath skirts across my lips.

 

“I… I would have allowed it.”

 

“Will you allow it now, Katniss?”  It's not really a question, he's already wrapped a strong arm around me, one large hand warm on my bare back. His other hand slides sensuously down my arm to twine with mine as we sway, completely out of time with the much faster salsa music coming from the stereo.

 

He's warm and solid, and he smells so damned good, like cinnamon and musk. When I rest my cheek against his chest he sighs contentedly. I'm struck by how right it feels, how natural. As if I was meant to be here. As if we were meant to be here.

 

It's like he hears my thoughts. “Do you know how long I've wanted this?” I shake my head and he presses his face against my hair with a soft laugh. “I’ve had a crush on you since high school.”

 

“Me?” The disbelief in my tone is clear, I want to back away, ask him if he's screwing with me, but his arm tightens around me.

 

“You have no idea, do you? The effect you have…” I can hear his heart racing, where my ear is pressed snugly against his bare chest. I think I do understand. I wonder if he realizes it's the same for me?

 

I don't know how long we sway together, silent but for our pounding hearts. He lifts our joined hands to his mouth, pressing my fingers against lips just as soft as they look, and I can feel a hunger stirring low in my belly.

 

“I never thanked you,” I murmur, lost in his eyes. He chuckles, and his tongue slips out to wet his lips.

 

“I should be thanking you. This was my fantasy vacation, after all.” The flush that climbs up his neck and paints his cheeks is incredibly endearing.

 

“Hmmm,” I tease, “that's true. I mean, there's far fewer cabana boys at Puerto Mellarka than Johanna promised.” His cheeks flush more.

 

I step out of his arms, but keep his hand in mine, and tug him with me as I snap off the stereo and turn the dimmed light off entirely.

 

“Let me tell you my vacation fantasy.” His eyes are huge in the dim of the street lamps far below the apartment windows. The room is silent as he waits for me to continue. “I was going to watch the sunset from the beach with this incredibly hot blond guy.” Peeta's breathing is ragged as he listens intently. I step in front of him again, his free hand moves immediately to caress my hip. The sweet, sensual mood morphs into something decidedly more carnal.

 

“And I was hoping that he'd kiss me under the stars.” There are no stars in Peeta's apartment but it doesn't matter; his lips are on mine as soon as I've said the words.

 

It feels like coming home.

 

I've known how he feels about me for no more than an hour, I've understood the depth of my own feelings for even less time, and yet it doesn't feel rushed.

 

Maybe I've always known, down deep. The shy glances from across the cafeteria. That awful art history class I took in 11th grade just because I knew he'd be there. The way we invariably sit right next to each other whenever we’re hanging out together. Maybe I've always known that this was going to happen anyway. Inevitable.

 

But knowing doesn't make it any less enjoyable. And I'm almost certain I do see stars when he lays me back on his bed and makes me his.

 

Best spring break ever.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to @javistg for hosting, and to @thegirlfromoverthepond and @peetabreadgirl for giving me insight and talking me off the ledge.


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